Hello again, friends. I know, I know…it’s been a while. Almost a year. I really had planned on posting regularly again. But you know how it is, sometimes your brain says, “Nah. I’m shutting this down.” So I spent many months immersed in grief and existential angst. And not even in a cool, glamorous way with the moping artfully, wearing the black turtleneck and carrying around the dog-eared copy of Sartre.
This is mostly my dad’s fault, by the way. As many of you know, Dad had the nerve to die 18 months ago. Way to cramp my style, bro. Grief barges in whenever it wants, and it camped out with me for a while. But I recently realized that he wouldn’t approve of this. He’d say, “Grieve for a little while if you have to, but don’t drag it out and take up so much valuable time.” He was infuriatingly sensible. He read my blog regularly so I think he’d be happy that I’m posting again. And this time I mean it–I’ve even written a few more posts already.
Before I continue, I wanted to thank everyone who contributed to the RawrLove for Rara Campaign, it was a huge success and a great help to Rara, whose inner strength in the face of impossibly awful adversity never ceases to amaze me.
Also, big hugs to everyone who emailed me to find out how I was doing. I’ve been criminally bad about replying to everyone but I will–for now I just wanted to say that I have deeply appreciated your care and kindness.
I don’t have anything particularly exciting to report since we last visited. Except that I now have two more tattoos. This one is in honor of my dad–it’s his initials in nautical flags:
Then, for my first non-memorial ink, I got this one to show the intertwining of space and time, because I dig that shit:
This baby involved six hours under the tattoo gun. SIX HOURS. Strangely, it didn’t hurt as much as my first tattoo, but you have my permission to shoot me if I ever consider sitting for that long again.
And by far the most important thing that happened since we last chatted is that I saw Rush at Madison Square Garden. It. Was. FUCKING. AWESOME. If you heard an unearthly squealing sometime on the night of June 29th, that was me. Sorry. I couldn’t help myself–you know I love me some Geddy. Here’s a photo of him with those two other guys:
Don’t think I didn’t contemplate leaping onto the stage. Because I contemplated it very seriously. But I’d probably have been arrested and who knows if Mr. Weebles would have bailed me out.
So what’s up with you? Share with me. Anything you want. Tell me what you had for breakfast. Tell me your thoughts on the season finale of The Walking Dead. Tell me which presidential candidate you most want to plunge into a vat of boiling oil. Or whatever else you want to talk about.
I’ll be back next Monday, and in the meantime I’m going to visit with you guys at your blogs as well because I’ve missed you all.
By the way, you look SMOKIN’ hot today.